


don't take my love

by JinxxMarquette



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Necromancer Jaskier, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:14:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25272997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxxMarquette/pseuds/JinxxMarquette
Summary: Geralt is mortally wounded while on a contract.Jaskier decides that his witcher isn't allowed to die, at least not if he has any say in it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 344





	don't take my love

**Author's Note:**

> Just something wrote based on a tumblr prompt I received. 
> 
> For similar content, come join me, @innocentbi-stander

Geralt’s world narrowed down to a haze of darkness, sharp stabs of pain stemming from the gaping wound in his side courtesy of the second wyrvern the alderman hadn’t thought to inform him about.

He had been losing blood steadily for the past few minutes, and by the feel of the massive puddle beneath him he was close to bleeding out. A strong pressure wrapped around his fingers pulled him back to earth from the place his mind had been floating. Who was holding his hand? A blob swam in front of his vision, tan, and brown, and blue, bright, familiar blue. Geralt forced his eyes to focus and the blur became a face. 

Jaskier.

Jaskier was here, and he was shouting something at Geralt, and the witcher felt something wet drip onto his face. Tears, Jaskier was crying.

Geralt still couldn’t make out what exactly his bard was saying, but he could feel the presence of his hands, one holding his own and the other putting pressure on his wound. It wouldn’t help.

It struck Geralt then that he was dying. They were too far away from the village to get help, and Jaskier couldn’t possibly manage to lug Geralt to a healer in time for him to make any difference. Geralt always knew he would die a witcher’s death, struck down by some monster and left to bleed alone.

Except he wasn’t alone. In all the times Geralt had tried to picture how his life would end, he had never imagined a scenario where he didn’t die as he had lived; sad and isolated. Jaskier had changed that. The bard had come into his life and brought light, and laughter, and friendship, and love. And now here he sat beside Geralt as he bled out on some forest floor, gripping his hand and crying for him.

Gods, Geralt loved him more than he had ever loved anything else in the world.

And he was leaving him. He didn’t want to go. But he didn’t have a choice.

The world continued it’s steady fade to black, closing in more and more, until all Geralt could see was blue.

And then there was nothing.

Geralt woke with a gasp in a world that seemed drained of any and all bright color. Shadows clung to the walls like stubborn moss, and he could hear the sounds of a powerful river beside him.

As he got to his feet Geralt took note of the absence of pain from his side, and the presence of wooden slats, a dock, under his boots.

“Geralt of Rivia. I’ve been waiting for you.” A voice sounded from beside the witcher, and every hair on his body stood on end. The voice grated into his ears, nails on a chalkboard and the breaking of glass. 

Next to the dock was a boat, long and slim, and standing inside of it was a figure. Humanoid in nature, the figure was the darkest shade of night. It’s edges were unclear, slipping away from the throes of reality like a hazy dream. It wore a cloak like the velvet of the night sky, where the twinkles of stars shone from every fold. It’s hood was pulled up, but from what he could see underneath was nothing but a harsh darkness that looked cut from the void itself.

“Who are you?” Geralt asked, though he already knew the answer. Still, the figure indulged him.

“I am Charon, ferryman of the dead. You must board my boat so that I may deliver you to your Final Judgement.” Geralt felt his stomach reposition itself in a pit of dread and despair.

“So I am dead then.” Charon did not have eyes, but Geralt felt them burning through him none the less.

“Let’s not play silly games witcher. You are not the type prone to disillusionment, best not to start in the afterlife.” He was right. Geralt had no choice, no where else to go. He took a step forward, and Charon reached out one flickering arm towards the witcher.

“And where in the absolute HELL do you think you’re going, Geralt?!” A voice rang out across the shadowed land. A very familiar voice. A very familiar and very alive voice that most certainly shouldn’t be down here. 

Geralt whipped around in disbelief to see Jaskier, stomping across the shoreline towards them. The bard was dressed in the same green set of clothes he had been in that morning, except now he was positively doused in blood. Geralt’s blood. He was the only spot of color in this dark and dreary plane and the most beautiful thing Geralt had ever seen, the witcher couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

In his shock at seeing Jaskier in what could only be the Underworld, Geralt had failed to notice the bard’s furious state. Jaskier marched up to the witcher’s side and Geralt let out a surprised huff when the bard proceeded to shove him a good few steps away from Charon and his boat.

“I cannot BELIEVE you Geralt! You die for one second and I come here and find you already traipsing onto the bloody ferryboat? I’d have thought there would have been at least a little fight in you!” The witcher took a minute to find his words, aghast and utterly confused about what was happening.

“I didn’t think I had a choice. I’m dead.” Charon decided then to add in his own two cents to the situation.

“He doesn’t have one. Your friend is dead, Jaskier. He must come with me now.” Jaskier laughed, loud and edging on hysterical as he turned to face Charon.

“I think the fuck not, you asinine little boat man. Geralt is mine, and I have decided that he will not be dying, so he will be coming with me back to the surface.” Charon’s figure seemed to grow, leering higher and higher over the bard who couldn’t seem to find it in himself to be even moderately intimidated.

“That does not align with the rules of Death, foolish boy. The witcher has died. Thus he must come with me. There are no second chances, even for the friends of those associated with Death himself.” Geralt watched silently and Jaskier’s face darkened, shadows seeming to wrap around his form, his eyes glowing in the darkness and a vicious grin overtaking his face.

“You underestimate my position in the Underworld, Charon. I am more powerful than you care to know, and more dangerous than you’d like to find out. Necromancers have a sworn kinship with Death, and we have freedom to play with it as much as we so please. If that means making sure the love of my life stays by my side as long as possible, than so be it. Unless you would like me to inform Death that his noble ferryman is disrespecting his dear friend?” 

Charon and Jaskier stayed locked in a silent battle of wills. An exchange seemed to pass between the two, and Jaskier held firm. A few minutes later Charon seemed to step back, taking hold of his oar.

“Very well. Take your witcher back to the surface. But be wary, next time you may not be so quick to come to his aid.” The ferryman pushed off from shore, and Geralt and Jaskier watched him disappear into the river mist in silence. As soon as he was fully gone, Jaskier seemed to brighten, turning around to Geralt with a bright smile that didn’t match the dreary setting.

“Alright then. Now that that’s done why don’t we head on back up and track down Roach? I left her in that clearing, surely she hasn’t gotten too far by now.” Geralt blinked a few times, trying to process the sudden shift in mood. 

“What was- Jaskier, what the fuck just happened?” Finally the bard managed some semblance of sheepishness, his hand coming up to nervously rub at the back of his neck and his eyes stuck on the floor.

“You see darling, I’ve been meaning to find a way to tell you, but I could never quite get it right, and then it just felt too late to say. I’m not exactly....human. I’m a necromancer.” Geralt stepped forward, his hands reaching up to grasp either side of Jaskier’s face and forcing him to look into his eyes.

“Okay.” Now it was Jaskier’s turn to be confused.

“Okay? Just, okay?” Geralt’s thumbs stroked his bard’s cheekbones in hopes to soothe his nerves.

“Yes.” Jaskier couldn’t help but let out a little laugh and the very Geralt-like response, always straight to the point. Lovely. The bard’s arms wrapped around the witcher’s neck, pulling him closer so their foreheads touched.

“Okay.” 

Geralt could feel wisps of his bard’s breath teasing at his lips, and he couldn’t resist closing the gap between them. The last thing Geralt saw before he closed his eyes was that beautiful shade of blue he loved so dearly. And he would see it again when he opened his eyes once more.


End file.
